Malthenpeg
by Amarin Astarte aka Leif Verde
Summary: Aragorn finds out Legolas has performed a Rite that has odd concequences on the caster.
1. Dawn Awareness

**_Malthenpeg_**

*********************************************  
Author's Notes: I'm going to be taking some general liberties (and a few major ones) on LotR as this goes along. The characters, at least their appearances, are based more upon the movie than the books. 

Hope you like it! 

********************************************* 

_**ONE**_

The song of the birds waking in the trees heralded the dawn in the forest. The hobbits, as usual, were slow to rise; all of them still deep in slumber. The rest of the Fellowship allowed them this small luxury, taking a moment to enjoy the woodland morning. 

Aragorn felt oddly at peace with himself. Perhaps it was some sense of calm before the storm... there was a long way to go before Mordor, and only the sun and moon knew what was to become of the Fellowship.  
He listened to the birdsong, pushing the worry from his heart and mind. It was beautiful, magic-touched, in this part of the woods. Soft and sweet, and oddly... His ears picked out the slight difference between birdsong and elfsong. Not always easy, but for one used to the singing voices...  
He followed the lilting voice through the willows to the edge of a small lake fed by a spring. He had wondered where Legolas had slipped off.  
The elven prince moved as gracefully in the water as he did on snow, barely rippling the surface as he swam. He dove beneath the glassy plane, then rose again with the elegant motions of seafolk. Many aspects of the lives of wood-elves Aragorn had the pleasure of observing, but up until the moment bathing in forest pools was not one of them.  
Legolas swam over to the bank nearest Aragorn, where his clothes and weapons lay neatly piled, and pulled himself up onto a stone. Again, he evoked visions of the oceanfae as he sat, legs tucked neatly beneath him, combing out his fine, if damp, hair, mithral silver flashing through suntouched gold. Aragorn could not suppress a smile at the sight. Legolas, oblivious to all but the delightful kiss of the warm, drying sun on his pale, bare flesh, began to sing. Aragorn's ears translated the sweet Sindarin language instantly, even as his mind became enraptured. 

"I can feel the grass grow through the boots on my feet  
I can feel the land's age in each tree that I meet  
The flowers rejoice in a dance slow as time  
There is poetry sung in a fern's sunward climb 

The land's very heart is revealed through her trees  
In the spring she weeps emerald, in autumn she bleeds  
In summer she casts back the cloak winter lays  
And grows green in the sun through her long summer days 

I dance with the trees as they gnarl and climb  
Take their rough hands in mine as they blossom and twine  
With the trees I find peace such as no one else knows  
As they whisper their dreams where the forest wind blows 

Oh teach me to stand strong but to bend with the breeze  
Teach me the patience that nurtures each leaf  
Like a tree I'll be calm and I'll live without strife  
In the wisdom of beauty and greenness and life" 

Aragorn had never heard the song before, but he supposed there were many among the elves that he had not. It was beautiful nonetheless. Legolas continued to trill the melody as he turned to retrieve his brush to finish grooming his nearly dry hair, turning has back to the human.  
Aragorn gasped and stumbled in the bushes at what he saw, immediately catching the attention of the sharp-eared elf. Legolas' motion was a blur of pale colors, and in a blink he stood with his bow drawn and aimed at the trees. He looked a marble sculpture of a hunter, flesh white in the early light. He lowered the arrow as Aragorn walked out of the foliage.  
"You of all should be wise enough to not startle an elf," he chided gently. Aragorn did not answer, just continued to advance upon him, "Aragorn, what..?" Heavy human hands on his shoulders, swirling him around to expose his back. So, he had seen...  
"What is this? What have you done?" One hand ran down the elf's spine, over the markings there. They began as small thumbprint-spots just between his shoulderblades, and spread down to rosettes at the base of his spine and across his buttocks, all of them a dark gold.   
"I do not understand why you should be so upset over a simple tattoo." Nervous deception tangled around the elf's words, easily heard by even the daftest of humans.  
"The one thing elves do not do well is lie. This is no tattoo, you know that as well as I. When did you do this? Not during this quest, I assume." There was distinct anger and concern in Aragorn's voice.  
"Long ago, perhaps before you ever walked this earth, I cannot remember exactly. What concern is it of yours?" The elf returned only anger and annoyance, trying to pull away from the human who held him with abnormal strength about the shoulders.  
"It is my concern that my elven companion has performed the Rite of Tad'ail. You know that it is a forbidden ritual." 

********************************************* 

The Song is "With the Trees" by Julia Ecklar (one of my favorite Filkers!) from the Walkabout album 


	2. Curiousity of Youth

**_Malthenpeg_**

*********************************************  
Author's Notes: I'm going to be taking some general liberties (and a few major ones) on LotR as this goes along. The characters, at least their appearances, are based more upon the movie than the books. 

Hope you like it! 

********************************************* 

_**Two**_

Legolas pulled free from Aragorn's grip with a wrenching twist. He stepped back a few paces to stare at his human friend, ignoring the sun full in his face. The ranger noticed for the first time that the elf's pupils closed to a sharp slits.  
"Legolas... why?" Aragorn asked, this time softer. The elf turned his face away from him, focusing on a patch of grass near his foot. Aragorn's fingers grasping his face, his chin, forced him to look up, "Why would you do this to yourself?" Legolas wrested away again, turning his back on his friend. Aragorn's eyes trailed up and down his back, at first staring only at the pattern of marks spread across it, and then at the body they adorned. Lean muscles twitched beneath the spotted skin, and he wished he had taken a moment to savor the feel of that silky flesh beneath his fingertips, "Why?"  
Slumping shoulders accompanied a heavy sigh. Legolas turned a little, a look of wildness in his eyes the likes of which Aragorn had never seen in a wood-elf. Not dangerous, just completely and totally wild.  
"You would not understand..."  
How could he hope to explain to Aragorn his actions? He could not even come to admit to and explain his breaking of the rule to any of his own kin. 

He remembered reading about the Rite of Tad'ail in his studies of the Old Magic, spells known only to the Elves and the Istari. He read of it, and found it fascinating. A Rite, when evoked, that would endow one with the form of an animal. How wonderful, he thought, to take the form of a great bird of prey. He had always been fascinated with flight...  
Going to Tiriel, his closest friend and mentor, with questions had proved a mistake. The older elf just stared at him as if he were daft, then dragged him before his father and bade him ask the same questions. He did, and the look on Thranduil's face was stormy; he dismissed Legolas' friend and asked his son to sit. The prince obeyed, curious as to what trouble his inquisitiveness had stirred up now.   
"Legolas, why do you want to know about this ritual? What interest do you have in it?"  
"Just curious, father." He was still young, barely out of his long childhood, and everything was of interest to him. The lord of Mirkwood acknowledged this, and tried to keep his annoyance to a minimum.  
"It is forbidden to practice. That is all you need to know."  
"Why?"  
The single most dreaded word in Mirkwood since Legolas had learned to talk. His favorite word. The prince questioned everything, less now that he was of some age, but as an elfling, ah! Dodging the young prince had become a sport among the court scholars. This was a question that could not be avoided, the king knew this. Ignoring it could only lead to disaster. He sighed deeply and began to speak with the gravity of providence.  
"The Rite of Tad'ail is a guarded secret in the knowledge of performing it. You should never have come across it. I shall speak to Tiriel about being more vigilant in his monitoring your studies in the library. And I shall reprimand you right now of searching where you should not. In order to discover the scroll containing that particular magic, you must have exerted considerable effort."  
Legolas looked away from his father, knowing that the king knew his youngest son too well for him to even attempt to make an excuse. Indeed, the prince had carefully watched and waited until Tiriel's guard was down before slinking over to the room containing books and scroll cases he, as well as virtually all others, was forbidden to touch. He then proceeded to hunt for whatever deep secrets the room hid. He had been an idiot to run to Tiriel with the scroll, asking about it, when he was not supposed to be in the room in the first place, but such is the foolishness of excited youth.  
"I'll have to have that room warded if you cannot learn to keep your prying fingers from where they don't belong. Until then, I warn you against thinking farther on the Rite. It has caused enough pain in this House."  
Legolas burned to know what was meant by his father's statement, but chose wisely not to ask. The king had great love for his youngest, but waning patience. He'd been getting into trouble more and more often; nothing major except for one small skirmish with a single orc that scared the skin off the young elf, but enough to intensify the glare of the ancient lord upon his son.   
He was dismissed, and Tiriel called before the king. Though he had been cautioned, and he knew whatever his father had to say to his friend and teacher would ensure the end of his snooping, he could not put the idea of becoming a bird and gaining the gift of flight from his mind.... 


	3. Into the Woods

**_Malthenpeg_**

*********************************************  
Author's Notes: I'm going to be taking some general liberties (and a few major ones) on LotR as this goes along. The characters, at least their appearances, are based more upon the movie than the books. 

Hope you like it! 

********************************************* 

_**Three**_

Looking back upon it, he suspected that Tiriel had known all along what he had done. Legolas disliked deception, but had yet to learn discipline enough to resist the temptations of his soul. To be a bird, to see the forest spread out beneath his wings...  
He raced back to the library, to where he had left the scroll before Tiriel had dragged him off by one wrist, and looked over it again. Picking up a quill, he copied the basics of the spell, the components and incantation necessary. It was a strange magic to be sure by what it demanded of the caster, but though he had more potential as a ranger than the magick-user his whim of the moment aspired him to be, he thought he had the skill to pull it off. He would ride the wind some day sure!  
Returning to his chambers, he hid the folded parchment within one of his books. It was oddly exciting to know such a secret was hidden within his room. He felt giddy, light as a feather despite the apprehension of being caught and who knows what happening to him. He climbed into the round window of his room and looked out, feeling the wind pull at his hair, listening to the song of the birds that flitted through the leaves outside. A few, ones he knew well, fluttered into the room with chirps of greeting, before lighting upon concave shelves and tables spread with seed. He watched them, sharp eyes taking in each little shining feather, the darting beaks and sharp motions. Rising gracefully from his seat, he moved silently over to the nearest feeding station. A fast swipe, a trill of surprise, and one of the birds was in his hand, not struggling but looking annoyed. The birds had become used to being scooped and handled by the prince, knowing he was harmless to them. Legolas held the bluebird in his hand, uncurling his fingers so she could flutter.  
"I will fly with you someday, little friend," he half-sang to her. She chirped back, questioningly and he smiled, "You'll see."  
Letting his feathered friend go back to feeding, he stepped back to watch, deciding against his impulsive heart to wait a little bit. His father and Tiriel would be watching him, well, like a hawk for however long they thought it would take him to forget about the spell. That could take a good fifty, sixty years knowing them. Not so bad, he supposed, not so long a time to wait by elven standards.... 

Fifty years, a hundred, two passed as new interests and addictions delayed Legolas in his plans. Learning to fight with twin knives, learning to play various instruments, spying on humans and orcs... a million things to do and learn. Nearly two hundred and fifty years after he discovered the Rite, his mind turned back to it fully.   
Holding the parchment with some reverence, he could not help but smile at what looked like a bird had tracked through ink and run across the paper. When in a rush, his normally graceful script always turned into birdtracks.  
His desire to take wing was combined with a paladin desire to help his people. He remembered the hawk that had died in his arms as a child, the victim of an orcish arrow, then pushed the thought from his mind. Perhaps if he proved himself an able spy on the dark forces invading their forest he would be forgiven for breaking the so-called taboo. He simply could not understand why it was forbidden, why it was so wrong... 

Aragorn watched the elf whom was lost in memory. The wildness had melted into a deep sadness, a loneliness that made him ache. He reached out a hand and brushed Legolas' shoulder in comfort. He was half-surprised when his friend craned his neck a bit, rubbing his cheek against the offered hand.   
"I just wanted to fly. That is all. I just wanted-" 

"Hunting? By yourself?" Tiriel looked alarmed at the idea, "And you've proposed this to Silinde and your father?"  
"No, and neither shall you."  
"Because they will say no."  
"As sure as birds sing." He placed one hand on his friend's arm, "I am capable of taking care of myself, friend."  
"This from the one who got caught in a tree by his hair just a few moons ago?"  
"An accident."  
"And a regrettable one." Tiriel stroked the prince's shoulder-length locks; "You had hair to rival a maiden before you had to cut it."  
"A maiden indeed!" Legolas snorted, "I should have braided it back, though..."  
"I did tell you a thousand times over that knee length hair is for the ladies of the court, not for those who hunt deer and orc through the branches."  
"And the lesson has been learned."  
"You were impressively tangled," Tiriel continued, teasingly, "perhaps if you hadn't struggled so we could have saved more of your hair."  
"It will grow back out," the prince said with a smile, and then his face fell, "You will tell no one of this? I will know if I am followed, and if I find they were sent by your hand..."  
"You have my word, although I warn now that if you have not returned in a fortnight I shall come hunting for you out of love less than duty."  
"I shall keep to the wood deep within our territory where the pests have naught penetrated." 

It was hard to remember much beyond leaving the Halls. A soft haze covered much of the time; he remembered finding the spot he wanted to cast... and the cool chill of the moonlight on his back as he knelt within the circle speaking the Words. The pleasant smell of the burning herbs was always strong in his mind, as was the sound of nightbirds in the distance. And the dream.  
The dream...  
A pleasant darkness; the echo of his chant fading. It fell upon him like a cloak, enfolding him in maternal comfort. It was strange... he felt no fear engulfed in this darkness borne of magic, though he had never been enchanted before. He waited, waited to feel his body change, arms lengthening and sprouting shining feathers...  
"It has been some time since one of the woodchildren came to me in such a way."  
"Who are you?" It was entirely curiosity that drove him to ask. He found he was almost annoyed at the disruption of the perfect, relaxing silence he rested in, "Are you one of the Valar?"  
"Perhaps. What name would you put to me, child?"  
Legolas thought for a moment, his mind alternating between a sleepy drunkenness and a strange sharpness. It caused strange patterns to dance before his eyes; the elves had no word for fractals. His mind sifted through the tales of the Valar he'd been told as a child, trying to match one to the voice that was both fierce and gentle, reminding him of wind growing through the leaves of the beech of Mirkwood.   
"Oromë?"  
"You may call me that if you wish, little one," soft, wild laughter, like wood snapping in a fire, "I have many names, in many times and on many worlds. Would you like to know what I will be called in the future of this world? On the futures of the worlds that revere me?"  
Without waiting for an answer, the wild voice began to prattle off names, a sound like sharp rocks clattering down a stony hill. Most were in languages so alien to the elf's mind that it made his head throb. The entity stopped suddenly, and silence hung thickly before he spoke again.  
"From my shadowed repose you have called me with words and scents enticing."  
"I have disobeyed my father's enforced ban upon this magick to ask..."  
"You desire the Form of the Beast. For no other reason am I ever called by your kin."  
"To fly... It is the only dream... the only dream I have had since I was old enough to do so. I want to ride the clouds..."   
"Selfish reasons, as usual."  
Legolas fought the clouds creeping over his mind, making his skin prickle, muscles twitch. No, it was not selfish. Perhaps it had once been, but not now. Not completely. He would enjoy his new form, enjoy it to new heights of pleasure, but he would aid his people in that delight. He would help.  
"No... No! My home, my people, are besieged by a spreading darkness... It grows and wanes like the moon, but now... I would be a spy for my people."  
"You would fly bravely into evil?"  
"Yes... From the air, I might see forces advancing from miles... I could stop ambushes like the one that killed..." his voice broke off, pain a sharp knife taken to his words. The acorn that had been planted in his sister's memory had grown to a mighty oak, but still the loss of the Princess of Mirkwood was a heavy grief on all that had loved her. Especially her youngest brother. His grief was long in coming, and there were many that thought he would never recover from the truth of her death. "There would be no suspicion of a hunting hawk or even songbird in the trees. The creatures who slay my people would never think that..."  
"Smart child, aren't you? No, I doubt that in the woods they would suspect one of the feathered ilk to be a spy for their enemies."  
"Then you will grant me the change?"  
"Yes... but not the form you desire."  
"What?" Legolas felt a leaf-soft touch brush between his shoulders and tried to pull away, feeling another hand, this one bark-rough encircle his throat.  
"Though a bird you wish to be, it is not what you are MEANT to be." The leaf-fingers ran down his spine, across his hips, "you do not bear the spirit of a bird, light as you may be. Your fascination with the windriders is not borne of brotherhood."  
"Release me! I do not wish to be anything but a bird! Please, let me go!"  
"No. You have offered yourself to me, and I shall grant you the change. You will see, in time, that your new form gives you freedom greater than that of flight. Your soul and body will sing as one and you shall cry out to me in elation. Now..."  
The elf felt his body being rended, remade. The fibers of his being were unraveled, then gathered and woven into a new tapestry, ever-changing. It was agonizing, erotic, terrifying and sensual, a maelstrom of emotion.   
Then he was running. His body, but not his, stretched and arched with a newfound speed and strength that felt as flying as he raced the wind. His eyes saw everything clearly, details sharp with only starlight to illuminate them. Acute elf eyes were, but not to this degree! His hearing as well... In the silence of the wood, he could hear the speech of the crickets. He slowed, breathing deeply. The smells of the forest filled his head, making him dizzy. His nose, too, was sharpened. So many new smells to take in! He smelled the crystal blue of water and headed in that direction at a fast clip, noticing for the first time that he ran on all fours.   
Water trickled down rocks into a small, clear pool. Legolas leaned over to drink, then started, stumbling back from it. What was that? Creeping back to the edge of the pool, he peered in. A pale, whiskered muzzle gazed back at him, wide-eyed.  
'Is... Is that me?' he whispered, and heard no words from the furred lips, only a soft sound that sounded like a thrum. He felt his ears move, and saw the water-creature's ears do the same. He reached out his hand... hand! Paw! Where once were long, slender fingers was instead a claw-tipped paw. He extended his claws, retracted them, staring in wonder, "What am I?"  
"This world has changed for the worst if those of the forest do not know the whiskered ones." The wild-spirit was nowhere to be seen, but his voice ruffled his fur. "Not since Berúthiel's companions have I found one of your blood who bore the spirit of the whiskered ones. Surprisingly rare."  
"I have never seen such a creature as I now am!" Legolas twisted and turned, looking over his new body as best he could. Spots and colorpoints! How unusual and beautiful, "I know no word in my language to put to it. What am I in the Common tongue? Is there a word?"  
"A cat. There is no word specific for your breed, for it does not exist on this world, but on others, you might be called a panther of sorts. You are different from others Changed, though... So catlike in nature before this... I think you shall succeed where others of the Changed have failed. Yes..."  
"Failed? What do you speak of? Failed in what manner?" But he was alone, the presence abandoned him. Legolas sat staring at his new countenance in wonder before giving over to the wild impulses growing within. 


	4. Can you...?

**_Malthenpeg_**

*********************************************  
Author's Notes: I'm going to be taking some general liberties (and a few major ones) on LotR as this goes along. The characters, at least their appearances, are based more upon the movie than the books. 

Hope you like it! 

********************************************* 

_**Four**_

"I thought it all a dark dream, a conjury created within my mind by the burning plants, but... I woke with a foul taste in my mouth... dark blood on my chest, face and hands. Orc's blood. I could not remember what I had done exactly, but I knew..."  
"A cat..." Aragorn said softly, recalling the small, rarely seen animals. There was one in all of Rivendell, a gray beast who allowed only barest glimpses before vanishing into the shadows. In Bree they were a handful, scruffy monsters almost indistinguishable from the rats they hunted. They did not seem in the same class as the fair elf before him. Then it came to his mind what Elrond had said on his one mentioning of the spell.   
'A magick borne of desperation and fear, Estel. First discovered by those of the Eldar in fear of both going into the West or the Halls of Mandos. They forsake their elven forms in exchange for those of the creatures of fur and feather, until even their minds are no longer as ours. They are lost to us, indistinguishable from the beasts of the forest until slain. Only in death do they regain their natural forms. It has caused great strife with every cast, it is forbidden to even entertain the idea of the Rite, and it should only be spoken of with careful discretion. I only tell you now because in this time as the dark powers grow stronger, though I pray it not to be, you may find that the deer or bird you slay with your arrow is not the beast you thought.'  
"Save the markings you still look as you should... I thought the magick..."  
"You see a glamour..." there was pained reluctance in the elf's voice, choked, "Gandalf helped me place it upon my..."  
"Gandalf? Then he knows...?"  
"He has kept my secret well for more than a century. I went to him after the... the changes became more noticeable. It hid all but the marks... those showed through even the strongest spell"  
"Show me?"  
"Aragorn..."  
"Can it be so bad?"  
With a heavy sigh, Legolas relented, closing his eyes. His body shimmered briefly as the glamour faded. He opened his sapphire eyes and looked at Aragorn with more pain than the ranger could fathom.   
"Here is your answer. The punishment for my foolish impulses."  
Aragorn slowly circled the half-cat standing demurely before him. Indeed, the glamour had done a fine job of hiding Legolas' nature. He gingerly stroked the soft fur of the elf's shoulder, feeling him flinch under his touch. It felt of the finest silk, and he thought for a moment on all the men he knew who would gladly hunt down the prince for his pelt. It frightened him, the mental image of the beautiful cat-elf slaughtered, muscles bared and skin stretched on a drying rack to be turned into a cloak or perhaps gloves, and his face wrenched in revulsion.   
Legolas read the disgust on Aragorn's face as directed at him and fought the urge to run. He should never have come. He was a liability to the Fellowship. Aragorn's hand ran down his spine, lingering for a moment at the base of his tail before it encircled the long appendage and ran down it. It surprised the ranger when the cat-elf's tail coiled around his wrist as he touched it.   
"Can... Can you use it as a possum does?"  
"No... It is flexible, but has no real strength in it. It is at best a decoration."   
Strong human hands left his tail and instead touched his ears, feathered along his jawbone. Despite his best efforts, Legolas could not suppress a soft purr as the ranger's deft fingers stroked the velvet of them. He did not see Aragorn smile a bit, but he felt the fond stroking increase in pressure. The elf half-closed his eyes and the thrumming intensified. To be touched with such gentleness in this form, this bestial form...   
The sudden weight of the cat-elf suddenly pressing against his chest started Aragorn, and he stumbled back. Legolas dug sharp claws into the leather of his doublet face pressed against his chest. Tears slowly leaked from between tightly closed lids, streaking the sandy fur dark.  
"I am barred from finding love and comfort among my own; any that would see my marking would surely flee or slay me. Not thinking, I have made myself a monster!"  
"You are not a monster. You are still beautiful. Moreso. I do not lie. Any who would reject you in this form is indeed a fool." Aragorn stroked Legolas' hair gently, feeling the claws dig deeper into his clothes.  
"Could you love me? Would you, in this furred form?" Legolas' words came out in a growling purr, and Aragorn wondered if he knew just how seductive it sounded, "My friend, things that I would like to tell you, things that fill my heart to bursting..."   
"Legolas..." the human felt the half-cat's hands snake up his chest to his neck, the claws lightly scraping the flesh there. Soft lips brushed his throat, nipping lightly, and he closed his eyes to savor the feeling. Legolas' tongue raked through the stubble of his jaw, a strange feeling.  
"Do you know what it is to love another and never be able to... to know they will see you as a beast to be shunned..?" Petal-soft lips across his cheek. Aragorn let his hands wander down to rest on Legolas' back, down to his hips... The prince made a soft noise and pressed closer, his sharp teeth catching bits of skin along the ranger's jawbone. Nails dragged red lines down his neck, causing him to wince. The claws caught in something, tangling. He opened his eyes long enough to see what had snared the half-cat. The chain around his neck. The Evenstar.  
Arwen...  
He didn't mean to be so rough in pushing Legolas away, but he also caught the elf off-guard. Legolas stumbled back away from him, graceless in his surprise, and fell among the stones and soil of the bank. He looked up at Aragorn with a look of betrayal, mud splattering his pale flanks. The ranger shook his head in apology, at the same time stepping back a bit.  
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean... It is... I do not... it is not right."  
"I know." Legolas whispered, barely audible, "it is never right. Not with the likes of myself."  
"Legolas..."  
"Leave me be. I will... I will rejoin you and the others in my own time." 

Legolas watched Aragorn reluctantly go, following his movements as far as feline hearing and sight could before slipping back into the water and diving beneath where he could not feel the tears pouring unbidden and unimpeded from his eyes. 

***************************************************** 

And here I leave it for a while... but not for long. This story started out with intent to go in one direction and has done a -189 degree turn. Which means I have to replan a few things... I've got most of it figured out fairly well... 

Oh, and if anyone is curious as to how I think he looks as a furry, since I did write this mess... http://home.att.net/~Amarin_Astarte/Malthenpeg.jpg Elves make good kitties IMNSHO! ^_^ _^..^_ 

Matta ne! 

Amarin-chan 


End file.
